


Cold Comfort

by CaffieneKitty



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Cold, Community: watsons_woes, Domestic Fluff, Gen, Knitting and Crocheting, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 23:37:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1918422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffieneKitty/pseuds/CaffieneKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warmth is for everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/profile)[**watsons_woes**](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/) July Writing Prompt #3: [A character's hidden talent saves the day](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/1061236.html). (Or not so hidden talent in this case.) My first ever Elementary fic, hope it's okay.

"Are you nuts? It's below twenty out there!" Joan hop-shuffled off the last step of the stairs and over to the nearest window to close it on the winter-filled New York street outside.

"I find the chill bracing, Watson." Sherlock sat in lotus position in the middle of the sitting room floor, surrounded by what looked like bowls of dirt and wearing only plaid boxers and a t-shirt. "Conducive to thinking. Like coolant for a superconductor."

Joan rolled her eyes and tried to shove the window closed one handed, not daring to let go of her blanket. "Your brain isn't a superconductor. It's made of meat just like everyone else's and you're going to give both of us hypothermia."

"Nonsense. I have coffee. You have a comforter."

"What about Clyde? He's cold-blooded. He'll die."

Sherlock waved in the direction of the kitchen. Clyde the tortoise was tucked into a box under a heat-lamp on the table, wearing his bumble-bee shell cozy and chewing steadily through a head of radicchio. Joan was briefly jealous.

"Fine." Joan gave up on the window and hop-hobbled back towards the stairs. "You freeze down here, I'm going back to my room. I might set something on fire for warmth."

Sherlock twisted to face her, mouth opening, eyes alert.

"No."

With a disappointed grunt, Sherlock resumed staring at his bowls of dirt in the frigid sitting room as Joan grumbled her way up the stairs.

-.-

After thumping and shivering to the second floor, Joan shuffled back into her room, clearing the trailing edge of her comforter from the doorway before slamming the door with a hip bump. Teeth starting to chatter, she looked around for some extra source of heat to warm the room up and spotted a fuzzy pinkish lump on a side-table she usually ignored. Knowing who she was living with, she shuffled closer with caution.

When she got close enough, the pinkish lump turned out to be a knitted hat and scarf, made of some exquisitely soft-looking fluffy yarn. It was patterned in seemingly random patches of cream, rose and peach that blended subtly into each other to the point that no patch seemed to have an edge, just a contiguous flow of color. They looked gorgeous, and best of all, warm.

There was a note card on the pile; handmade, powder-blue cardstock, raffia twine ties, a few swift lines on the front suggesting a frosted window frame looking out over quiet snowy streets. Inside, Ms. Hudson's elegant handwriting traced ink arabesques across the card: _The tortoise isn't the only one in this household who could use a cozy now and then._

-.-.-  
(that's it)


End file.
